


A Compendium of Documents Regarding Inquisitor Bae Lavellan, As Found Some Years After Her Formal Disbanding of the Inquisition

by firjii



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Depression, Epistolary, Gen, Inquisitor Backstory, Mild Language, Mild references to violence, Other, POV Varric Tethras, Suggestions of PTSD, background development, invented codex entries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-04-01 10:31:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 6,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13996368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firjii/pseuds/firjii
Summary: A non-linear story about a female Lavellan Inquisitor told in a semi-epistolary style via invented codices.





	1. Codex: Entry from a Skyhold Cook’s Journal

I asked Cole why he keeps stealing things from the kitchen. At first, he only said that it wasn’t stealing if it still went into someone’s stomach. It took me ten minutes to explain to him what theft was.

I shouldn’t really complain. He doesn’t take much, and it’s not even _hearty_ food. He takes two-day-old bread, not the fresh sorts – or else he’ll take half-burned things. He takes honey, but only if I’ve spilled spices into it. I’ve offered him the better fare we can make, but he ignores me. He only wants the scraps.

I asked him if he wants it for himself. He asked me why he’d ever want food.

It took me a good hour of arguing to finally get it out of him. I asked who it was for. He said the Inquisitor. I asked him why he was taking scraps and spoiled honey to her. He said they were a feast in her eyes.

I’ll never forget his words: “When she’s seen death, she shivers like the wind that blows the ashes away after the fires. She remembers who they were. She sees embers. She sees the lives they might have been, and they make her forget the things she should remember instead. The only way she can stop shaking _and_ eat is to bite into something old and stale and solid, something to remind her that the _world_ is still solid.”

She’s got a weak stomach, then. That’s no surprise. I don’t think she enjoys killing.

I asked him what the honey was for. He said her throat’s usually raw for one reason or another. 

I should tell our spymaster.


	2. Codex: A Letter in a Shaky Hand

I should’ve guessed that someone like _you_ would know. You probably worked it out somehow as soon as they found me. Who knows what you spied on while I was asleep? 

But never mind about that now. I don’t care. You’ve kept your silence well enough, whatever you know about me. 

I don’t have to explain a damn thing to you, but I won’t deny it, either. Yes, it’s part of me. There shouldn’t be shame in it, but that doesn’t mean there _isn’t_. It wasn’t my fault, but it _is_ my _burden_. There aren’t enough people in the world who understand the difference. You _do_ , I think, so I owe you a debt: honesty.

I can’t escape it, but I’m almost not sure that I _want_ to. It probably sounds horrible to say that, but it’s the truth. That’s as much of it as I can spare for you for now. It visits me every day. Every time I see it before me again, it reminds me of what I can’t let myself become. It reminds me of all the things I’m fighting. It reminds me that I’m not wrong. It reminds me that I’m not a traitor to my people for saying what I say. They speak the truth, but not always _all_ of it. I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to use our downfall as an excuse to ignore the crimes we commit against each other to this very day.

You asked me what I’ll do when this is over. You’ve asked me that from the day we first met. I damn well better answer you sooner or later. I don’t know. I can’t go back. I still can’t believe that I stayed as long as I did. I was unclaimed, but if you ask some among them, it’s more like I was _unclaimable_.

What you saw that day was a stumble, nothing more. They happen from time to time. I’m usually more careful, but it was such a scene, and there were too many people. I forgot myself. I forgot where and who I was. It was bound to happen. It’s been a long time since it came that badly. I’m glad I know that it can still be that intense. As you might say, it was instructive. I’m almost glad that it happened. My stomach will be well enough in a day or two. Don’t worry yourself about the marks. They’re old. That’s all we need to say about it.

I’ll be alright. They don’t need to hear about it. It won’t affect me. I’ll make sure it doesn’t interfere from now on. It’s like you said: it’s in the past. I thank you for being so graceful about it. I don’t know what you did, but those few moments were –

_**[illegible words vigorously crossed out]** _

I didn’t expect that from someone who loves facts as deeply as you do. I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve seen so much, but I didn’t believe you until you acted as you did that day. I’m not sure that I could have trusted the others to see me like that, and you were right: the best thing for me in those moments is quiet. 

You offered to help interpret my dreams. I don’t know to what end. I know already what they mean. I only have a few of them. But if you –

_**[illegible]** _

You understand. That’s all I need to say for now.

 

– correspondence from Inquisitor Lavellan to Solas, carefully folded and hidden in an ancient tome in Skyhold’s rotunda


	3. Codex: A Letter to Sister Nightingale Regarding Inquisitor Lavellan’s Unusual Constitution

It is _most_ strange: she flinches so easily at small noises as if they were part of war’s deafening din. She sometimes flies into a blind panic at the sight of fire. Throngs of people can agitate her, even if they consist entirely of her closest friends in the Inquisition. 

But she rarely reacts to pain in the ways that most people would.

I’m certain that she feels it. I have seen her bleeding like a stuck pig. I have seen her face turn ashen from a dislocated shoulder. I have seen her tremble so much that she fainted (in fact, this is something that all in the Inquisition must be advised to watch for, regardless of the implications that such a fact might provoke). She weeps fiercely from ache and wound alike, but silently, and often only in seclusion. All told, I suspect that she has seen far more of injuries than any one person deserves in this life.

Despite her relative youth (especially for an elf), she almost displays signs of a long-healed stroke – _almost_. I cannot confirm or deny it, but some of her lackings suggest a peculiar hemorrhage of that sort, albeit clearly something that she recovered from very well as she has no great encumbering loss to show for it. Nevertheless, they are distinct details which are rarely connected to other ailments or injuries. Yet she cannot remember (or cannot _admit_ ) any such incident.

As to her – well, I cannot share such details, chiefly because she herself refuses to elaborate on most of them. Suffice it to say that both the conclusion and the actions leading to it still pain her, though for different reasons. As a surgeon, I will attest that there is no immediate urgency or danger. I merely wonder how someone like her – her manner leads me to believe that she has surely always been sensitive in more than one way, perhaps even delicate – endured through it and managed not to succumb to despair. To have a grievous loss be the result of an already grievous offense would make lesser souls willingly hurtle themselves into the Void.

On that note, the scars you spoke of _are_ quite suspicious. It’s true, they _may_ be ordinary wounds, but that kind of coincidence would be unlikely. There is something strangely persistent and repetitive about some of them. They pose no bodily hindrance that I can see, but she acts strangely if questioned about them. I suggest leaving the topic dormant, but it would be wise to note if any new injuries of a similar sort appear at any time.

I have yet to see her howl in pain. Perhaps this is something that the Dalish teach their children – although it would not be altogether logical in her case since she has freely admitted that her umarked face is precisely because of her clan’s awareness of her intolerance to pain.

Perhaps she simply taught herself how to muffle her cries. Perhaps need forced her to learn the habit. In any case, do not assume that her silence is indifference to agony. If anything, she feels it far more acutely than the rest of us. 

I sometimes wish that I could do something other than dull her senses for a few hours. I am now firmly convinced that such herbs and potions do nothing whatsoever for her mind.

– an unnamed Inquisition field surgeon  


	4. Codex: On Literacy - A Report Regarding Inquisitor Bae Lavellan, As Related by Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan

She could count the beats of a butterfly’s wings if it suited her. She could memorize the patter of a lame man’s limp and imitate it with her own stride. She could breathe so silently that the most skittish of wild beasts scarcely noticed her presence.

But she could _not_ learn Elven.

It puzzled me from the first early days when she could speak. Certainly she knew the words we use most often in clan life, and she always hid her confusion well. Yet she simply couldn’t _understand_ it. She is a fine scholar, though doubtless she has made some in your Inquisition believe otherwise since she has a habit of dwelling on her weaknesses. She has a strong ear for animal calls and music, and she could always remember our campfire stories better than those whose position was defined by storytelling. 

But she could never grasp our own language in the way that others in the clan could. No amount of my efforts seemed to help for her written _or_ spoken attempts. It may seem strange to you that someone who did not grow up hearing Common the majority of the time somehow became more fluent in it than her people’s native tongue, but this is a true and fair accounting of your Inquisitor, as requested.  

In time, I chose to allow her to focus on other studies. Elves may live longer than the other races, but that does not mean that we treat time as less precious than it truly is. Magic is far more important to control than mere speech, after all. Others in the clan sometimes resented her for forcing them to speak the humans’ language – but in truth, she expected very little of them. She spoke to some people as rarely as possible. In fact, she was never very talkative at all. For a time, her parents even wondered if she was deaf or mute. 

Thus she grew to think of her surroundings and the people within it, ever wary of offending. If given a chance to explain herself, she will admit that she often gathered her own herbs and fruits and attempted hunting in her own way so that she could avoid being harassed by certain hard people in the clan who insisted on tormenting her despite my reprimands. However you choose to use her talents, you must not bother her with questions about something which she is ignorant of through no one’s fault, including hers.

You need not worry about her knowledge of written Common. She can read it well enough, although elaborate handwriting may prove a struggle sometimes. I suggest using your considerable resources to obtain literate messengers who can read formal letters aloud, or else simply allow your Ambassador Montilyet to summarize them for her.

-Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan


	5. Codex: A Letter to Leliana

Everyone keeps asking if I’m cold. I’m not, but I can’t stop shaking. It must confuse them. I don’t care about the climate. I _enjoyed_ snow until now.

It’s _everywhere_. You can’t hike about for more than half a mile before you find more of it. It’s so warm near it. The glow is more than a glow. It seems like a heartbeat sometimes. I’m not a dwarf and I’ll never have stone sense, but this is too obvious to deny and too invasive to ignore. There are ripples in the air near it, and there are tendrils that move about like lightning, only much slower. It seems like they’re speaking, but I can’t hear anything.

The others don’t react, but I’m sure it’s not in my mind. Cole overheard my thoughts when we first arrived here and he seems as nervous as I am, but he doesn’t say much about it. Cassandra tries hard to help me, but her soldiering skills only reach so far when the fighting’s done, and she knows that. She’s careful to watch me eat. Everyone tells me I haven’t eaten as much as I should when I’m upset. That might be true, but how can I think about food when all I can see are those –  

Dorian only remarked on the dangers of lyrium. He’s hardly spoken of it beyond that. But I know what I’m feeling. It’s not the sort of thing you can wish away.

We claimed Suledin Keep easily enough – not that it was _easy_ , but we’ve faced steeper odds. Imshael was difficult, but that’s not what worries me. He did exactly what his nature demanded. He’s not the one who started it.

We shouldn’t keep a presence there. Something’s still not right in that place. Corypheus is powerful, but I’m not afraid of him. I’m afraid of _Emprise_.

It can’t be mended. Everything’s wrong here. I wonder if this was what the last Blight felt like. Emprise was beautiful once, that much is clear. Maybe it still is. My thoughts wander _so far_ sometimes. I haven’t dreamt as I should for years now, and this place seems to be shifting that balance. But everything here is sick now. It’s as sickly as the villagers who – **[illegible]**

I’m sorry for the scrawling. I lost control of my hand just now. My stomach will always remember what I saw here. You’ll read the agents’ reports soon enough. A few of the captives who weren’t altered have agreed to come back with us to Skyhold to confirm what happened – not that we need much proof. Red lyrium doesn’t appear like this on its own.

Please don’t make me explain it in person. I can’t do it. This time is different. I cherish your friendship, but there’s no advice you can give me. There’s only ice and ruin here.

– Inquisitor Lavellan


	6. Codex: Transcript of a Young Cook’s Helper in a Tavern

I was tired and I couldn’t think straight, but business is business and there wasn’t anyone else there to do it. It was already a warm day, but the stoves were burning hotter than usual. I could barely breathe in that place anyway. There’s not enough air in the best of times, even with the shutters open. But no one complains if it means somewhere warm in winter.

I was nervous, too. It doesn’t take much for Cook to clip me somewhere. I’m a bungler, and I know it. But Maker! All those scouts. All those Chantry folk, except they didn’t act like Chantry folk. They were too cheerful. I didn’t understand why. Soldiers don’t have a reason to be cheerful.

I didn’t even see the Inquisitor at first. She wasn’t in uniform. Maker, the _scouts_ were in fancier dress than her! Not that she wasn’t well-dressed, but she didn’t look like – well, what _does_ an Inquisitor look like? She didn’t have the Inquisition emblem on any of her gear – not even a brooch. I s’pose that only makes sense. Why put a target on your leader’s chest, eh?

She didn’t say a word. She barely looked at anyone. She traced dings and gashes in a table while she waited for her food. If she hadn’t been nodding when her fellows talked to her, I’d have thought her deaf or dumb, or both. She didn’t act like a leader. She didn’t even act like an equal. Swear to Andraste, she squirmed every time someone bumped her. She blushed when I caught someone calling her Inquisitor. But she wasn’t angry, either. She was patient, or at least better at keeping her annoyances to herself. I thought she was just dour. But what dour leader has happy agents, eh?

Anyway, I didn’t have much time to think on it. I was rushing around to feed all these extra folk. I don’t know where we found the food to do it, but we did it. But it was such a scurry! I barely had time to set food on tables before I had to go back again and again. I don’t know how many times I did it. It must’ve been dozens.

I had a dizzy spell. I didn’t see it coming, it came that fast. I don’t think anyone would’ve noticed, except I spilled one of the plates I was carrying on my arm. It was something with butter sauce. Butter burns are the worst kind. I screamed and fell. By the time I was on the floor, I’d spilled even more of the sauce. I screamed again.

And Maker’s breath, do you know who came over and stopped my head from banging on the floor? Not the cook, not the Chantry sisters, not the mages. The _Inquisitor_.

No one asked her to. No one told her to. She didn’t even hesitate. She just scrambled over like a horse. She didn’t make me stand up, either. She let me stay there until the dizziness passed. Cook heard all the noise and came out to yell at me, but the Inquisitor waved her away. No, she didn’t just wave her away, she screamed at her. Proper _screaming_. She picked me up and put me on a bench like I was no more trouble to carry than a baby. She knew what to do about the burn, too. She even gave me a potion before she left – she said it’d help the burn heal sooner. It did.

Now listen here. My mother was an elf, Maker rest her soul. She barely lived long enough to get me out of nursing age. There are other elf-bloodeds in this village – they just won’t admit it. They took me in as one of their own, and I know I’m lucky. But I’ve never met a kind elf. The alienages sound horrible and the Dalish sound fierce. But the only fierceness the Inquisitor had was against meanness in other people. She wouldn’t have known I was her kin. I look human – I’m just a bit short.

If she’s really the one running the Inquisition, I just wonder – what could the world be like if other folk acted like _her_?


	7. Codex: Correspondence Between Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and Varric Tethras

Varric,

I need a favor and I’m unsure who else to ask. For whatever reason, our Inquisitor trusts you, so maybe you will succeed where others have failed. I’ve merely been asking her about her life. Understanding where someone came from is important, no? But she gets quite upset (or simply ignores me) whenever I ask after a certain name. _That_ name. She claims that she never chose one, but I have my doubts. Leliana has been very standoffish about it, too.

-Cassandra

 

Cassandra,

‘Succeed where others have failed’? Do you realize what that sounds like? Can you imagine what Mouse would say if she knew you’d said that? Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I should take note of that and remember it the next time you ask me to go ass-deep into danger when you could choose from half a dozen others instead.

Leliana’s right. As hard as it is to believe, there are some things a spymaster won’t do, even for her own side. For the last time, stop being so pushy. You’re not an interrogator anymore and Mouse isn’t your prisoner. It’s none of your business anyway. If she wants to talk about it, she _will_ , but you can’t force her to do anything before she’s good and ready for it. I know better by now, and so should you.

And what does it matter? She has enough to worry about without you nagging her about something she doesn’t want to think about. Maker knows _I_ wouldn’t, and I’m not even a woman. Don’t run out on brittle ice on a lake and be surprised when it breaks under your feet.

Back in Kirkwall, Aveline tried to ask Fenris a similar question. _He_ didn’t want to answer it either. With all that’s wrong in the world, what the hell difference does a name make?

-Varric

 

Varric,

It matters because no one can endure that kind of anguish alone forever. It matters because it will help her talk about it. It matters because when I’ve heard her cry out in the night, she doesn’t scream for the person who should have brought her happiness. She keens against her tormentors instead.

-Cassandra

 

Cassandra,

I’d laugh, except there’s nothing funny about it. ‘Tormentors’? Is _that_ really what you’d call them? I won’t even waste time on all the reasons why that was a shitty way to put it. Just stare at the word for awhile and come to your own conclusions.

Has it occurred to you that _she might not remember everything_? The surgeon told you in no uncertain terms: he thinks she had a stroke. I agree. I’ve met people who had them. Mouse is lucky that it hasn’t affected her more than it did. You can’t hear it in her speech and her movements look damn well close to normal if she’s carrying weapons. She does have her moments, but Maker knows she tries. And usually, she succeeds. End of story. She didn’t let it get in her way any more than we let our troubles get in _our_ way.

But we don’t know what really happened. No one does. From what I understand about it, that’s one _hell_ of a complication. Between wanting to block out what led to it and barely staying in one piece after that, she’s allowed a little peace from conversation about it. She has enough to worry about. And something tells me that she’s always been worried about a _lot_. You saw the letter from her Keeper. I’ll never understand how the world chooses who it wants to trample. But she doesn’t let _that_ bother her, either – not that I’ve seen or that she’ll admit to, anyway.

So in no uncertain terms, my dear Seeker: _BACK OFF_. Mouse isn’t alone. I know what you meant, but it’s not true, and she knows that. I’ve told her that and I think she believed me. She knows where to find you if she changes her mind. She knows we’re here if she needs us. ‘Friend’ and ‘force’ start with the same letter, but they can never mean the same thing.

-Varric


	8. Codex: Personal Notes in a Frustrated Hand

I don’t understand it. It’s as if she doesn’t take pride in being a mage. It’s as if she doesn’t realize what a threat it can be to her own existence. Magic is as natural to her as breath is to me, but she neither boasts about it nor hides it. If anyone asks her a serious question about a spell or a ward, she answers equally seriously in turn, as if she doesn’t realize that she’s been an exotic oddity all the while.

I’ve tried asking her about Dalish life. She hasn’t once corrected me when I make an assertion, but she also refuses to elaborate. Perhaps that’s only the Dalish way, though. Our scholars don’t know _everything_ , after all.

Even so, she hasn’t called a human a shem even _once_. She shares meals with them, confides in them, even has lengthy discussions with Mother Giselle when the garden is quiet. She banters with dwarves. She acts like that Qunari wall of a man is no different than one of her fellows. She treats city elves as well as some people treat their own blood relatives. And contrary to popular belief, she is _not_ frightened of or daunted by beards – merely a little intrigued by Warden Blackwall’s.

I’ve even seen her lingering before altars. I haven’t dared to approach her in those moments, of course, but it is _quite_ a spectacle: a Dalish elf with no vallaslin and – so it would seem – Andrastian beliefs. Where’s her resentment about being a descendant of an oppressed people? Where’s her outrage about the Chantry’s treatment of mages in the civilized parts of the world? Even _I_ will admit to their severity, Maker rest my soul.

Where’s her vigor? Perhaps it all resides in her magic.

She’s not an elf – not really. It’s ridiculous. She goes around with her bare face as if there’s nothing she was denied. What kind of self-respecting Dalish doesn’t choose marks? What kind of traitor like _that_ would’ve been sent to the Conclave? It’s almost as if the Dalish knew what would happen and wanted to be rid of one of the weaker strands in their weave.

-a page from the journal of an undisclosed University of Orlais student specializing in cultural studies


	9. Codex: From an Unpublished Anonymous Manuscript Written Twenty Years After the Exalted Council

The Inquisitor was said to have had more than one family.

True enough, she was raised among her own people, but her parents were exiled for some unknown reason while she was still a small child. Part of their punishment was that they leave their daughter behind, evidently for the good of the clan as her magic had already manifested and the Lavellans were in need of strong mage potential.

Curiously by Dalish standards, she and some others in her clan were apparently discouraged from fraternizing too closely with each other. One theory simply poses the notion that her shy tendencies might have been seen by her elders as tenderness exceeding common standards, or perhaps that she was not intelligent enough to understand such inevitable events. Another – the one supported by Mistress Lavellan herself – is that despite the Dalish tendency to shuffle people between clans to prevent inbreeding, perhaps she actually had other siblings or half-siblings. Still other rumors – of a more unsettling nature – can be inferred on close examination of some correspondences. 

The dynamics of her clan – or, rather, their dynamics towards _her_ – at the time of her life were universally acknowledged as unusual, if not difficult. This was in no small part because of her neutrality with regards to other races and cultures, even by Clan Lavellan standards. While no document has ever been found to suggest that they ever disproved of her openness and diplomacy during the Inquisition, it has been strongly suggested that this somehow factored into her decision to not return to her people had they survived.

Though a retreating sort, she was said to have made fast friends with many people in the Inquisition. It would therefore not be an unreasonable stretch of the truth to go as far as saying that the Inquisition was perhaps her true family. One would be hard pressed to find an unflattering or angry description of her by one of her companions. It is even said that she eventually took to calling Varric Tethras ‘Uncle,’ likely the truth given that figure’s general conviviality towards the world at large.

It is said that when she disbanded the Inquisition, she was not dispirited about the organization’s troubles (those had become patently obvious to her by that time and the result was inevitable, however uncomfortable) as much as the prospect of watching her second, adopted family disintegrate or disperse. Indeed, while every companion and advisor thrived outside of the Inquisition and the Inquisitor was in frequent communication with all of them, she was said to have acted as if in mourning for various reasons following the disbanding.


	10. Codex: A Few Requests Put Forth to the Inquisition’s Advisors

As much as our dear leader enjoys all of your company, there are some things that just need to be said – and the Inquisitor isn’t very good at directness, in case you hadn’t noticed.

Leliana, for Maker’s sake, ease up on offering to threaten people. I’m not questioning your skills _or_ your methods. There are times when there’s really no other way, and it’ll always be part of a spymaster’s job. Fine. Do what you need to do to keep us safe and informed. But _please_ don’t talk about it to Mouse. If you have to do something, do it quietly. Don’t tell her. She won’t want to know. I’ve seen her stay awake all night just because she was re-thinking something that you casually mentioned to her a few weeks earlier. She’s realistic. She knows that death and war are inseparable. But she also tends to take sport in blaming herself. It helps no one and hinders _everyone_.

Josephine, _please_ stop bombarding Mouse with cultural lessons as soon as she comes back from a mission. She’s curious and a quicker study than she looks. I think she even enjoys it since it’s a change of pace from fighting. But she also overspends herself. A lot. She’s just too timid to admit it. Teaching her about the world is well and good, but at least consider breaking the lessons up into more manageable afternoons. Don’t try to intensively teach her Orlesian and make her memorize royal lineages in the same day.  

Cullen, stop moping about how we didn’t get the Templars. Fiona’s a powerful ally and there hasn’t been a single truly dangerous incident with the mages since we took them in. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. Each and every one of them are every bit as much a refugee as Fereldan humans are right now. Half of them just want to be left alone. It’s not always about power. Mouse is stronger with magic than she’ll admit, but she keeps it quiet for a reason. She doesn’t like to feel powerful. I think you can say the same about a _lot_ of our magically-inclined allies.

And as for _all_ of you – look, whatever you do, don’t rush her…about _anything_. I don’t much understand it myself, but I don’t _need_ to. It’s how things are. If one of my second cousins used to cut a hole in a frozen lake in winter and make his ass purple from the cold just to make him forget his arthritis for awhile, it’s not that strange if our Inquisitor likes to take things slowly. As long as it doesn’t hobble her in a fight, it shouldn’t matter.

-Varric


	11. Codex: A Letter from Leliana

Inquisitor,

I am pleased to inform you that seven farmers in Crestwood have agreed to your proposal. They hope to settle in the hallas by the end of the month. They were initially hesitant when we explained that they are independent creatures who tend to resent being penned in, but we assured them that this also means that they sometimes only need minimal herding attention and will manage themselves given the right conditions.

I was also delighted to hear that the blind halla taken along as a testimony for all to consider has chosen to bond with a young boy. The child is deaf, but his stillness apparently caught the halla’s attention, just as the halla’s graceful movements caught the boy’s liking.

I’m afraid that we could not find even more willing participants at this stage, but some families fled weeks ago, and others are still occupied with rebuilding their homes and making arrangements for the missing people recovered from the lake. I suspect that more will come forward in time.


	12. Codex: A Worn Page Filled With Random Phrases

Trees. Cottonwoods?

Cherries. Don’t know who got them or where they came from.

Laughter. They all had different laughs. Why do I remember them?

Warmth. It was a hot day. But my face was also flushed? Can’t remember.

Screams. Mine? Not a lot. I needed my breath for other things.

White. Gray pulsing stars every time I tried to focus my eyes. They throbbed so hard. I couldn’t see anything after awhile.

The laughter stopped. There was a fly. It was so loud. It felt like it was there for hours. It wouldn’t leave me alone. But I couldn’t move to wave it away. I was tired.

I wept. I was so thirsty. There was a river, but I couldn’t walk to get to it. I told myself to move, but I couldn't. I don't know why.

I crawled part of the way back to the camp. I made myself stand up and walk the rest of the way when sunset came. Got back to my tent at midnight or so. I was sunburned. I hadn’t noticed the sun.

Someone scolded me about a fray in my shirt but gave me clean breeches without question.  

 

Varric you prick, this was a stupid idea.

 

-from a small journal well-hidden in the Inquisitor’s quarters


	13. Codex: A Letter in an Unusually Formal Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unsure how to say goodbye if Corypheus defeated her, the Inquisitor evidently wrote her thoughts down to her companions and advisors, to be read after her death if and when the need arose.

We can’t know what will happen tonight, tomorrow, or next week. We don’t know what Corypheus will try to do to end the Inquisition – or the world.

I understand that a will isn’t worth much without any possessions to distribute, but I’m told that some people use them as an opportunity to give last messages to family and loved ones. Many of you know what I think of you, but in case you don’t, I’ll take this one chance I have left to say the unsaid.

Leliana – you frighten me. You really do. But we’ve trusted our lives to you so many times and you haven’t led us astray yet. I don’t see how that will ever change. Some think that your fierceness is unseemly. I think it’s marvelous. You’re the only person who might really have the will to change the Chantry. I wish you the best of luck.

Josephine – thank you for tolerating my whims about food. I know I have expensive and strange tastes (even by the wealthy’s standards), but you can’t imagine how much it’s helped for me to eat something agreeable when I’m too upset to stomach other fare. It’s a greater kindness than you’ll ever realize.

Cullen – I won’t waste time reassuring you about the future. It would sound hollow. You already know what you need to do. Remember what I said. Don’t give up on something just because it’s difficult. You’ve made it this far. I don’t doubt that you’ll make even more strides.    

Cassandra – Thank you for not hiding your battle scars. I know that won’t sound like much, but seeing them every day made me realize that admitting to my own isn’t as dreadful as I’d been told before now. I’m not sure what else I should tell someone who has been as determined as you are. You say that your faith is your strength as much as your weakness, but I don’t think it’s either. If it guides you to question as much as it pushes you to action, it’s worth protecting.

Dorian – you made me realize something that I hadn’t allowed myself to think about before now. I hadn’t thought it possible, especially given…well, you _know_ what. We hardly have the same story, but we were both forced to be what we weren’t. You’ve shown me that my nature and my desires don’t have to contradict each other. You were the first to notice when I spent more time than was needed with Solas. Your reaction was nothing short of graceful. For that, you will always have my thanks.

Bull – I can’t believe you tricked me into killing a high dragon. Ten times, in fact. I’m sorry we couldn’t have gotten the Sandy Howler, but you saw how it was. At least Hakkon is gone. Thank you for your courage in the face of great _and_ small struggles. Some people might have called you insane. Damned right you are, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Cole – I needn’t dedicate any space on the page since you already know my thoughts, but allow me a moment to indulge myself anyway. The others don’t understand you, but you should never let that discourage you. What you do and who you are is important. You’re doing exactly as you should. I never doubted your motives. We’re kindreds, you and I, and that’s sterner stuff than any words we might speak.

Sera – life always needs more arrows. I can’t pretend we’ve always gotten along, but your energy always reminded me to keep trying, striving, daring. Those are all things I’d forgotten how to do before the Conclave. Always question – but also always remember that there’s usually more than one way to solve a problem.

Vivienne – I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more to help your dear Bastien. You showed so much concern for me and I couldn’t even find the wyvern heart in time to save him. Friendships don’t always get the rewards they are owing, and I’m sorry that ours is one of those.

Blackwall – I hope you’ll forgive yourself someday soon. What you did doesn’t matter half as much as what you’re _doing_. By your deeds as much as my decree, you’re not that man anymore. Learn from your mistakes. Remember them if you must. But never use them as an excuse to hide. Only the truly wicked should hide. Only those who embrace their wrongs deserve to look over their shoulders more often than they watch their feet on the path ahead of them. 

Varric – you’re one of the only people in the Inquisition who didn’t make me grind my teeth every ten minutes. You knew when to persist and when to leave me be. You noticed things far sooner than most of the others. I don’t need to tell you what to do. Don’t let them weep for me. Whether good or bad, don’t let them say I was something I wasn’t. Just tell Maryden to play my favorite song. She’ll know which one.

Solas – _banal nadas._ _Ar lath ma_.

 

-from an envelope covered with illustrations of various heraldry evidently drawn by the Inquisitor herself


End file.
